


Remember

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, F/M, I don't want to spoil in the tags, Memory Loss, Mystery, dark bughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: My name is....My name....."Say it, Betty," Crown growls. He holds up the bucket once again, and I curl into my chest, pressing myself further into my knees."Betty Cooper." I whisper.Or: with rapidly deteriorating memories, four strangers struggle to remember who they really are.





	1. Forget

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on new years eve. because I'm a jolly person lmao

The devastating splash of cold water over my head feels like multiple needles stabbing into my exposed shoulders. It floods down my naked back and I shiver, gasping for precious air. It's like standing in the pouring rain, except I have no means of escape. I'm stuck, helpless as the onslaught continues to lash my back, ripping down my chest and neck.

Crying out, I stifle sobs constructing my aching chest. At the sound of his voice, my eyes blink open for a moment, and I peer through soaked lashes.

"I'll ask you again," his voice is soft but stern. If I concentrate I can sense it quivering slightly. "What's your name?" The boy's shadow looms over me. He's in the center, between two others who stay silent. He's the only one who speaks. The one who's holding the next bucket filled to the brim with icy cold water. I know this because I've already been through this three times. My body is ice, pressed against the marble surface of the tub. My eyes are squeezed shut. Every time I open them, I'm blinking back water, my vision is cloudy like I'm looking through a foggy mirror. They want me to say a different name, but I won't do it. I won't say it. My name—“ my name is—“

I cry out, reveling in the comfort of my own name. But I can barely hear it. They want to take it away from me. I choke out a sob when the water comes down once again, soaking me, flooding inside me. It poisons my blood, solidifying my veins. But I don't give in. Not yet. Clenching my fists, I tip my head back, keeping my eyes stubbornly shut. "My name," I gasp out, spitting out water, "is-"

_Again, I can't hear it._

"Again." another voice growls. This time it's a girl. The pretty raven-haired girl with cat-like green eyes and golden skin. I imagine her standing over me, unsmiling. Her eyes are like daggers. I gasp out once again when the fourth pail of water is poured all over me, but my skin is already frozen. My heart is already slamming in my chest, very nearly catapulting from my ribcage. I'm already suffering. I blindly slip and slide around the tub, flailing my arms, but they're quickly restrained by warm hands I can't wrench away from. "You're making this harder than it should be," the girl says. Her tone is softer than the boy's. But I know it's a lie. It hides under a facade I had fallen for.

"My name-," I say through gritted teeth, gasping once more when water splashes down my back once again. My hair sags in front of my face, glued to my cheeks. I flinch when soft fingers peel it from my eyes. "Come on darlin'," a voice sighs softly. I recognize the redhead's voice automatically. The boy with the lilted accent. The one he tried to hide. "all of this will stop if you just tell us what your name is."

I can feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks, and for a moment, they're a relief against the bitterly cold water dripping from my body.

".....!" 

_What?_

_Why can't I hear my own name?_

Panicking, I try again when I've gathered enough strength. I scream it at the top of my lungs.

"It's-!"

Another bucket of water comes down, soaking me. But I ignore it, biting so hard on my tongue I taste blood. Wrenching my arms from the boy's phantom grip, I cling onto the tub and allow my eyes to flicker open. For a moment I'm blinded by the warm golden light of the bathroom. It's huge, with pale blue tiles, a shower and towel rail.

I'd almost forgotten I'd even been inside. It feels like I'm kneeling in minus temperatures, letting thunderous rain cascade over me.

"Hey!"

I'm pulled back to reality by a voice, and I let my gaze flit to the three figures standing over me. I'm sitting, stripped of my dignity, completely naked, in a fancy marble tub. Spotlights shine above me, revealing me to an audience; millions of anonymous watchers. I'm submerged up to my stomach, the water lapping around my thighs. "My name is..." it's like my lips move, and sound comes out of my mouth. But I don't register it. 

_What's happening to me?_

One of the boys lets out a heavy sigh. I flinch, but the water doesn't come this time.

I stay bent over, hugging my chest, muttering my name to myself. I press my face against my bare legs, whispering it into my icy skin. But it's becoming tangled on my tongue. It sounds wrong, even cried out in my own mind. 

"She's not submitting," the girl murmurs, and I lift my gaze to stare at her, blinking ice water from my eyes. She and I are very different: me, sitting naked in a tub of freezing cold water in front of three strangers. While she stands over me with what I can only describe as some kind of triumph. Her hair perfectly sags on pale white shoulders, her fringe pulled back by a blue headband. She's wearing a neatly pressed black dress and tights. I notice she's fiddling with something, twirling it around her index finger. It's a red ribbon.

My heart drops into my stomach. It's for me. From the look in her eyes, she can't wait to slip it through strands of my hair once its dry. Her fingers play with the thread as she eyes me, her lips parted into what might be a smile. But it never quite reaches that point, only curving slightly. She dangles the ribbon playfully. Teasing. Taunting.

"She has to. Do you realize how much trouble we'll be in if she doesn't?"

The boy next to her makes my skin crawl. He frowns at me through narrowed brown eyes. He's tall and wiry with red hair poking from underneath a knitted beanie. There's something strange about him. He looks at least sixteen, much like the girl, but he's wearing clothes a modern teenage boy would laugh at: a bright green sweater with a bow tie and skinny jeans hugging his legs. His skin is pale, the freckles splattered across his cheeks look almost fake. Like someone had drawn them on with a permanent marker.

I can only stare at him, swallowing the screech building in the back of my throat. His voice scares me. Sometimes it hitches, from new age American to something entirely different, and so does his expression, going from neutral to terror in seconds flat.

"I got this," the other boy holding the bucket says in finality. He looks like the girl's brother, the same golden skin, narrowed green eyes and raven hair. Except his hair is shorter, splayed across his forehead and messy as if he hasn't brushed it in a while.

Like the others, the boy is also in strange clothing. He wears a grey sweater bearing an embroidered S on the front, tight jeans, and strangest of all, a fitted silver crown sitting on top of his unruly curls. He's smiling down at me, but there's no warmth in it, no friendliness. He stares at me as if I'm a slab of meat. The boy leans forward, the points of the crown on his head look sharp enough to do damage. I wonder if it's real.

His breath is so warm, refreshing against my glacial cheeks. I can't help but let out a soft gasp of relief. He feels so warm, even if he's not even touching me. But I crave it. Shivers fly down my spine. I need warmth.

"Your name is Betty Cooper," he says. His teeth are gritted, and I sense a hint of desperation. "Do you understand me?"

That name. My heart feels like it's being shredded. It feels so wrong. 

But so right.

I want to nod. Just so I can get out of the tub. So I can cover myself, shade my bare body from their eyes. But I've always been stubborn. I shake my head like a child, strands of my wet hair slap against my cheeks and the boy leans back with a frustrated hiss. "Fine," he grumbles, reaching for the bucket once again.

I jump back, letting out a squeak. The water sloshes around me in the tub. "No!" I cry out, but the girl and boy grab for me, gripping my arms tightly. They kneel next to the crown boy, their expression's hard and merciless. "Please!" I skitter back, flailing helplessly as my bare feet scathe the sides of the tub. The girl is so close, her breath hot and heavy like the boy's.

"Just say it," she murmurs. "Then I promise this will be over."

I watch the boy with the crown fill the bucket with water once again. He rubs at his head with a shaky breath. The cuff of his sweater is soaked. His crown wobbles as he thrusts the bucket under the stream. I stay still, shivering as the spray hits the rim. Water splashes from the sides and I flinch, trying to push myself back. But the other's have me in a tight, impenetrable grip. "Okay, one last time." The boy with the crown drags the bucket from the tub and holds it over my head. I can only stare up helplessly.

I can feel the others gazes stuck to me, waiting for me to speak. The boy wastes no time. "Your name," he sounds impatient. "What is it?"

Swallowing hard, I blink rapidly. How much longer until the water freezes my heart? I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. All they want me to do is say a different name, but my name means so much to me. It's who I grew up as. I am...

_I'm..._

_Oh god, who am I?!_

"We're waiting," Crown grumbles. He rattles the bucket a little, and a startled cry rips through my lips when the water hits my shoulders once more.

Something breaks inside me then, any rebellion I'd tried so hard to grasp onto. I throw my fists down, tugging myself violently from the others. They let go. "B-Betty Cooper!" I squeak.

The skin around the boy's eyes wrinkles. He raises an eyebrow before tipping the bucket, the whole load hits me at once, knocking the breath out of me. My head hits my bare knees from the momentum and I gasp for air. "I don't believe you," he says. I sense him moving to the tap, filling up the bucket once again, and my body cries out.

"N-no!" I manage to splutter, straightening up. "My-my name is Betty Cooper." I whisper, making shaky eye contact with him.

He hesitates before nodding. "Say it again."

I glare at him. "What?" I can't help letting out a laugh. "I just-I just said it!"

"But did you mean it?" His lips curve into a spiteful smirk, and I want to hurt him. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he's the one choking. I'm left to flounder for words, while he fills the bucket once again.

My name is-

**MY NAME IS-**

I say it to myself, wanting to scream so loud that I deafen myself. But my thoughts grow foggy and lackadaisical. 

_My name is...._

_My name....._

"Say it, Betty," Crown growls. He holds up the bucket once again, and I curl into myself, pressing myself further into my knees. The other name slips from my tongue so easily. 

"Betty Cooper." I whisper.

The water hits again.

I'm so cold. So numb. My body screams out in pain, but they don't listen.

"Again!" his voice echoes in my head, and the water gets colder and colder as the seconds and minutes pass by. It folds over me, cascading, a vicious glacial storm raining over my unresponsive body. My lips become numb. I can't cry out my name anymore, even when the water keeps coming, drowning me, hollowing me out and filling me up with poison.

Finally, it stops, and I'm left quivering, shivering, sobbing. I'm trembling so hard my head spins. I sense Crown kneeling next to me.

"What's your name?" he sighs softly, and I feel his fingers playing with strands of my hair, peeling it from my skin. Bile burns at the back of my throat when I feel the brush of the ribbon in his hand. I want to pull away, I want to scream. But my throat is raw. My lips are numb. I'm so cold. I'm so cold.

When I try and move, the water around me sloshes against the tub. "Come on Betty," his voice is sing-song. "What's your name? Say it loud and clear so we can hear it."

"Betty," I whimper. "My-my name is B-Betty Cooper."

I don't see the look of relief on his face. He sighs softly. I can feel him tying the ribbon into my hair. His fingers move coarsely through strands, bunching it into a ponytail. The girl begins humming softly, and when I open my eyes and peer through spasming lashes the three of them stand over me, identical smiles on their faces. I shrink back, suppressing a cry. My hair feels so wrong, hanging in a soaking ponytail, held in place by the red ribbon. I can do nothing but stare helplessly at the three.

Crown cocks his head, folding his arms across his chest. He speaks softly. "It's Jughead," he says with a smile. "Remember?" His green eyes urge me to nod, and he gestures to the girl and the redhead. "And they're Archie and Veronica. We're your best friends. You remember now right?" Questions fly through my head, a hurricane of thoughts buzzing around my skull. What kind of name is Archie? It's so old-fashioned. Along with Betty and Veronica, that's a name from decades ago. Going back to the '40s and '50s.

Except I've heard these name before. They've been plastered across my childhood, and yet I can't think of anything, despite my brain screaming.

The answer is on the tip of my tongue.

The redhead -Archie- chuckles. "Silly Betty forgetting who we are," he says, nudging the girl who giggles.

"I know right? Betty is just feeling a little under the weather, aren't you Betty?" She puts so much emphasis on the name, I feel like I have to answer. Her eyes bore into mine. They say something completely different, dripping with desperation, torment, and agony.

This girl is playing a role. It hits me like the tumultuous waves of icy water they had subjected me to. All three of them are playing a role. And they want me to join them.

"Betty?" Archie murmurs. "You remember us, right?"

I find myself nodding. Anything to get out of this tub. "Yes," I whimper, staring up at them with childlike bafflement. Crown -Jughead nods and smiles brightly at me. Except I can see something past the smile, a glimmer he's trying so hard to hide. It's obvious in his body language. Like the others. They're stiff. Their smiles are fake, their eyes haunted. "We've missed you so much, Betty. It's really good to have you back."

_Betty._

That's my name.

 


	2. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a young islander makes the biggest mistake of his life and ___ realises she’s in a fucked up version of The Truman Show

 

“Just because you’re breathing, doesn’t mean you’re alive.”

-Tablo.

 

_When I was a kid, mum used to warn me of the dangers of talking to a stranger._

_The lights in the club almost blinded me. I blinked rapidly in the afterglow of the singing, the dancing and moshing. Some overplayed pop songs screeched in my ears. It was the same song with a different beat. Normally I'd roll my eyes at the repetitiveness, but it didn't bother me that evening. School was becoming a nightmare; exams in a week, so I thought I'd cool off. Normally I found solitude with just my guitar, locked inside my room. But that night I felt like a different person. Like the sky was the limit, I could be anyone, do anything because you only live once. All that “seize the moment” bullshit._

_I'd found myself feeling anxious, maybe a little lost, in the middle of some bar I'd heard kids at school like to visit. It was everything I'd expected. It was packed, kids throwing themselves in the air to any song that blasted from the speakers. Mocktails were sold at alarmingly low prices, yet the air already stunk of cigarette smoke, stale vodka and body odour. So the owners were already doing a pretty shitty job at trying to stop kids from smuggling in alcohol. It was everything I'd expected a teen club to be. I recognized a few faces from my classes, but they were all caught in their wave of euphoria as whatever drug they'd ingested or stuck in their veins began to take effect._

_It was hot that evening. The air had been thick with humidity, the type that sticks to your skin, dries your throat out. My hair had been an unbrushed tangled mess after showering. I'd not bothered with drying it, so most of my fringe stuck up in different directions. Mum pointed it out. "Honestly," she flashed me a smirk before leaving for work, "if you weren't so handsome I'd tell you to brush your hair."_

_"Thanks mum," I retorted with my own smile._

_She was right. I was beyond thankful to grow up in an attractive family. I had mum's olive skin, dad's crinkled brown eyes and spiky black hair. Though annoyingly, I also inherited dad's nose. Which stuck out at an odd angle. I'd learned to live with it though. My older sisters are beautiful; they have mum's dark curls, her strong cheekbones and warm, honey coloured eyes. They are flawless, like my mother. I, on the other hand, am like my father._

_Throwing on a white dress shirt and my cleanest pair of skinny jeans, I bid goodbye to my family, and set off to La Bonne Nuit, a pretentious sounding name for a glorified underage drinking club._

_It didn't take long to find it. The club sat on the strip in front of the beach. After standing outside in a queue that stretched right down the strip, I walked straight into a mosh pit. Some screamer band was raging through the speakers, everyone going mental. After stumbling around for a while, I situated myself right in the middle of the crowd._

_Except I was completely sober. The glass of water felt almost wrong in my hands. I would have ordered a mocktail, but anxiety had spiked my gut at the thought of reading out one of their tongue twisty names: “Hot Toddy,” “Tom And Jerry,” the “Porch Crawler.” I couldn't imagine myself saying them without either laughing or stumbling. In the end I chose water. It was a school night, and mum would kill me if managed to get myself drunk. Sure, it was fine when I was with family. It's practically a tradition on the island. But getting pissed on trashy vodka would definitely be a no-no._

_At first I wasn't sure what to do. Do I dance? Join in with everyone else? I was always a loud kid growing up. With friends and family I could let myself go. Though letting myself loose in a club full of strangers didn't seem appealing. Especially if my drink of choice was water. I took a long sip, reveling in how refreshing the water felt dribbling down my throat. I had half a mind to press the cool glass to my perspired forehead._

_That's when it had hit me. Strangers. I spun around, my mind a carousel. Bright lights shone between my flickering lashes. So many strangers._

_Mum's words came from nowhere, her voice filling my mind, "Always keep your distance from a stranger, sweetheart."_

_Except I'm not five anymore._

_I surprised myself with a laugh. Strangers? How could I be scared of strangers? I stopped believing in the boogeyman when I eight. All of his forms. Child snatchers, faceless demons hiding under my bed. The lot of them. I wasn't scared of them anymore._

_Facing a stranger at seventeen years old is different from when I was a kid. A stranger to an adult is a potential friend, or significant other. It's a best friend, or an enemy. You could find you soulmate in a crowd and never know until you spoke to them._

_Until you make a connection._

_"Hey!”_

_A girl squeaks when I push past her, very nearly splashing my water all of over her dress. I vaguely recognise her blonde ponytail and wash of freckles over her cheeks. Zoey… her last name is lost in my muddled thoughts._

_"Watch it!" she hisses, glaring at me._

_"Shit, sorry!" I reply quickly, though she disappeared into the crowd before I can prolong my apology. Another thing that separates me from my perfect sisters. I'm clumsy as hell. I'd lost count how many of mum's favorite vases I'd broken._

_Nice going, idiot. The dancing bodies around me are suddenly closing in fast, and I held my breath, pushing my way through the growing crowd. Maybe I'd visit Cathedral Cove, down by the beach. It was where I spent most of my time, either cooling off in the shallows or burying myself in sand to avoid the vicious glare of the Late December sun. Though as I was making my way out, something struck me._

_Stay._

_It murmured in my ear, a phantom in the growing mass of bodies. Stay, it repeated. My legs seemed to follow the voice, leading me back into the horde. This would be so much easier if I'd came with fucking friends._

_Squinting at purple and blue spotlights dancing across the tiled floor, I take another swig of water. I vaguely recognise the lyrics in one of the songs blasting, and I start to sing along with the crowd. I was finally starting to enjoy myself, relaxing into the arms of a random boy who wrapped his arms around my waist, when I found my gaze lazily scanning the crowd. Maybe for a familiar face. Maybe one of the boys from the rugby team were here. The guy holding me started to sway, bellowing out the lyrics to Come on, Eileen. The crowd were getting progressively more rowdy, the louder and faster the song got. Suddenly it was a synchronized cry, one I was glad to be joining._

_“Come on, Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)_

  
_At this moment, you mean everything_

_  
You in that dress, my thoughts I confess_

_  
Verge on dirty—”_

_That's when I saw her. She stood out in the bustle of screaming kids, glistening in the neon haze, though she was like no other girl I'd ever seen._

_The girl was laughing. At what? I wasn't sure. Except I couldn't look away. Her head was tipped back, long velvet hair cascading down a golden back. Her dress sparkled under the spotlights. All at once I snapped out of the spell from the song, and stagger from the guy's grip, very nearly face planting to a girl's cleavage._

_"Sorry!" I yell again, though everybody's too caught up in the music._

_Unlike me._

_I had to see her again. Suddenly I was drunk, possibly drugged from her. She was the only one in the room. The only girl I've ever wanted to talk to._

_I stand on my tiptoes, looking for her. And I glimpse a flash of obsidian in the gathering of kids. My eyes widen when she flings her hair back, and it moves with her while she grinds on a random guy. The crowd go crazy and I stay completely still._

_All I see is her._

_The girl was my age, but any fool would mistake her for eighteen. She oozed maturity. I couldn't seem to tear my gaze from her. She moved with the music, twirling on her own, her arms spread out as if she was flying. Though she never stumbled or looked uncomfortable. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet, her ruby lips open in a sparkling smile which made my chest ache. I found myself lurching forwards, as if my body was on autopilot. My cheeks flushed. My heart stampeded in my chest. I was a mess._

_I looked away, fixing my shirt collar, swiping my sweaty forehead with my sleeve. I run a hand through my hair, trying to straighten it out, wishing I listened to mum._

_God damn it, why didn't I brush my hair?_

_After somehow managing to steel myself and tame my wayward locks, I risked looking back at the girl, catching a glimpse of her standing at the bar. Though there's someone next to her. When I crane my neck, I spot broad shoulders and a head of dark curls._

_I couldn't resist rolling my eyes. Of course a guy had found her. Though when I look closer, it's not a creep like I was expecting. This kid looked around my age, maybe a few years older. He looked like he hasn't slept in days and somehow managed to pull it off, dark circles underlining his eyes. He runs his fingers through bedraggled brown hair hanging over his forehead, a knitted grey beanie sitting on top of unruly curls. I frowned at him. I'd never seen him at school. He was the kind of boy I'd definitely remember seeing._

_The boy's skin was pale which definitely makes him stand out. I'm so used to seeing golden brown, almost burnt skin around the island. But he looks like a ghost. The boy wears casual jeans and t-shirt, an expensive looking camera hanging around his neck. I'm trying to figure out what brand of camera it is when the boy looks up, his gaze landing directly on me. Just like the girl had. Though where her eyes had sparkled with mischief, her lips a flirtatious grin, he cocked his head in confusion._

_I stared back stupidly while the boy seemed to drink me in, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bar. The girl sipped tentatively on a mocktail._

_"Hey!" his lips mouthed the word over the music, and I found myself smiling back, dragging a hand through my hair. My cheeks were on fire._

_The girl nudged him. She was laughing. He beckoned me over, and I moved through the crowd, as if in a dream. When I reached the bar, the boy surprised me with a high five._

_"Hey!" the boy yelled in my ear over the overbearing music. His cologne — a chocolate scent — tingled in my nose and throat. "I thought you were never going to come over!"_

_His accent was like a slap in the face. American. Why did I not think of that? His pasty skin practically screamed American or European. He ignored my baffled expression. "So my friend here likes the look of you." When he winked, I laughed nervously. He smirked when I took a slow drink of water. The boy wore a bemused smile. "Planning on getting wasted?"_

_"Jug!" the girl giggled, shoving the boy- who now has a name. Her accent shines through just like his. American. It's somehow bolder than his._

_I swallowed the urge to ask if he was taking the piss. "Jug?" I repeated, glancing at the girl. She still hasn’t revealed her name. "Like the thing you put water in?"_

_Jug held my gaze for a moment, and there's something flickering in his eyes. His lip twitches and his shoulders relax before he opens his mouth to speak, but the girl cuts him off, clearing his throat. "Juggie, sweetie, I believe I said he was mine."_

_Oh, they're serious. That's his name._

_Before me or the boy can say anything, she holds out her hand. There's a pretty damn expensive ring sparkling on her index finger. "The name's Veronica Lodge," she purrs._

_I startle at her. Veronica? What a name. Though I've heard it before. The name sounds incredibly old, buried deep in childhood memories long since suppressed._

_"Jughead Jones," the boy mutters after a moment. Something's changed in his expression, but I can't read it. When I meet his eye, he looks away, leaning across the counter to order a drink. What's with the weird ass names? I bite my lip. Something about that name too. It stirs something in my mind. Veronica and Jughead. It's on the tip of my tongue._

_"What's your name, sweetie pie?"_

_I snap out of temporary reverie. Veronica's eyes are on me. She sits there, glittering, ruby red lips stretched into a perfect smile. She reminds me of a cartoon. I've had girlfriends and boyfriends in the past, people I've been interested in but none of them can amount to Veronica Lodge. She's sexy, stunning-_

_"Oi, Gormless," Jughead snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. He's scowling. "She asked you what your name is."_

_"Oh right," I chuckle. Wow, what an ass._

_"Sorry, my name's ____"_

_Suddenly it's like all the sound is sucked from the room, the moment my name comes out. Before slamming back into my ears, the roar of the crowd and the music knocking back into me. I shake my head, blinking. What was that? When I look at Veronica and Jughead to see if they noticed it they looked none the wiser. Veronica grinned. So I guess she heard what I said. "Exotic!" she says brightly to what must be my name._

_"So, how long have you lived here?"_

_"My whole life." I try to smile back, but my my chest starts to ache. I take a swig of water to calm myself down. I'm okay. I'm not going crazy. I know my own fucking name._

_I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating. Forget about the crowd, about the music. My name. I sound it out in my mind, forcing letters together. But they get tangled and become confusing knots I can't get my head around. It's a simple name. So simple. Sweat starts to bead down my forehead. I can feel my heart start to pound._

_"Are you okay dude?" Opening my eyes, Jughead has a funny look on his face. He's not quite smiling, but his green eyes are wide. Far too wide. He nods at my drink sitting in a ring of perspiration on the bar. "Why not have a drink?"_

_"Sorry, I…" My head starts spinning, and I take another drink of water. When I look at Veronica, the sparkles on her dress are pulsating; neon orange and yellow. "... don't know what's wrong with me." I mutter, blinking rapidly at the spotlights above the bar. Tendrils of light flicker, glowing brighter and brighter._

_"Hey." My attention snaps back to Jughead; his abnormally wide eyes. His smile is soft._

_"You're okay," The boy's voice is gentle. I can feel him suddenly grasping my shoulders. "Just drink your water," he says. "Everything is going to be okay Archie."_

_"What?" I manage to hiss. "N-no, that's not my name." I'm babbling now. My eyes are stinging. "My name is ____." I can't say it. I let out a soft sob, and Veronica is suddenly draped over me. I can feel her hands rubbing circles into my back. I look over her shoulder, mystified. The girl's scents, the rose and lavender perfume that she wears, is suddenly in the air in perfect clarity. The smells swirl around in a confusing, mystical light._

_No. Shutting my eyes I shake my head. No, no, no. I'm seeing things_

_Hearing things._

_"My name—" I splutter, the words becoming like alphabet soup in my mouth._

_Jughead sighs. "Drink your water, Arch. You'll feel better."_

_Frustrated tears burn in my eyes. "What are you talking about?" I can't stop the slur in my words. "That's not my—”_

_The world spins, and I drunkenly look down at my glass of water. It's fizzing. And hell, it's filled to the brim. "Did someone refill—"_

_The words are muddled on my tongue, suddenly a tongue twister. Jughead only smiles at me. He's so calm._

_"It's okay sweetie,” Veronica says. Her voice is like an explosion in my mind. When I'm too tired to lift my head she holds two fingers under my chin to support my neck. I peer at her and Jughead through bleary vision. Jughead smiles brightly. "Don't worry Arch. We're your best friends. We're going to take good care of you, okay?"_

_I don't reply. The two of them take told of my weight and I feel myself being dragged across the dance floor. My legs are unresponsive. "How long is this going to last?" Veronica's voice is different suddenly; a whole new tone. She’s dropped the sexy, flirtatious 1950's purr for a modern American hiss. "Are you sure he's the one?"_

_"Almost positive,” Jughead replies in his not-Jughead voice._

_Veronica lets out a frustrated cry. "How can you be so sure? Have you seen the size of him, I can barely carry him—" she groans with effort. "What if he doesn't submit?"_

_"Then we do it again until he does submit," the boy growled. "I estimate the Gamma will wear off in about half an hour. Which means we need to move fast."_

_Huh. A hysterical laugh tumbles from my throat as Jughead’s grip on my shoulder tightens. His fingernails dig into my skin but I barely feel the sting._

_Well whaddya know?_

_Mum was right._

_  
*_

"Okay Betty!" Veronica squeaks after I'm sure my whole body has turned to ice. The water still sloshes against my bare thighs. I can barely feel it anymore. The girl smiles down at me and I can see the suppressed scream on her lips. They're knitted shut. But who's doing this? The three of them are puppets, acting for a higher up. That thought sends tingles down my spine. They're constantly being monitored. The only thing the three of them told me before dousing me in ice water was that we're being watched.

We're always being watched.

Veronica snaps me out of it. Her annoying shrill voice slices through my ears.

"Why don't we get you ready, hm?"

After my torturous ice bath I'm still shivering. Even an hour later when the only name that slips from my numb lips is Betty Cooper, they hoisted me out as a three. I didn't complain or think about my disintegrating pride, any dignity I'd managed to keep hold of was gone. I didn't speak, only sobbed through numb lips, as a fluffy pink bathrobe was thrown over my shoulders. Veronica wrapped my dripping hair in a towel and the boys push me out of the bathroom and I find myself on a hallway I've never seen before.

I was brought here unconscious. I've only known of the bathroom. The hallway is modern; a plush white carpet stretching right across, a bear skin rug sitting in the middle. When I'm shoved forward, hunched over, trying to hug warmth into myself, my feet sink into the carpet and for a moment, there's relief.

The three of them don't waste any time. I'm taken to what looks like a dressing room. There are four stations, each labelled: Archie, Veronica and Jughead. As I pass them, I glimpse hair product and multiple brushes, boxes of makeup and tubes of hair dye and wigs. There are clothing racks too, full of different outfits. I can't help staring before I'm ragged roughly by Jughead, shoved into a chair in front of a station labelled "Betty Cooper." It's just like the others, strewn with makeup, brushes and bits of red ribbon.

Finally, I can't keep quiet any longer. "What is this?" I whisper.

I catch Veronica's lips twisting into a scowl, before she shakes her head, smiling brightly. "What are you talking about, Betty? This is where you get ready!" Her over the top voice is driving my mad. I clench my fists, wincing when my nails stab into the flesh of my palms. I flinch when a warm hand closes over my fist.

"Don't do that." Archie stands over me, that ridiculous cheesy grin is plastered on his face. But his brown eyes crinkled around the edges. He peels my fingers back before I can try and fight back.

I try and ignore him, snatching my hands back and burying them in my lap.

"Ten minutes," Veronica glances at her watch. My heart stammers in my chest.

"Until what?" I blink in the fluorescent lighting, scoping for an exit. While they fuss around me. My name is ____. I'm not Betty Cooper. I'm...

I'm ____.

Fuck!

My old name won't grace my mind but I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to give in and let them turn me into somebody else. Tears spring to my eyes as I stare down at my lap. No, I can't cry. I can't show that I'm weak. There has to be a way out of here, and when I'm out, when my head is clear, I'll remember my name. I know I will.

I just need to hide behind this facade for a little longer. I'll play their sick game, pretend to be Betty Cooper. Until they're least expecting it. Though there's a thought skating the back of my mind. What if I fall under the spell too? These kids are like me, prisoners, pawns, in someone's game. They're pretending to be someone they're not. But how much is pretend? How long have they been here? What if their demented grins are real? Had they tried to fight? Had they had their names taken from them too?

I cry out when Archie drags a comb through my hair harshly. He chuckles. "Betty, you love it when I brush your hair." he murmurs. He continues. I can feel the nick of the metal comb scraping my scalp as strands of my naturally curly hair are straightened.

"You haven't answered my question," I say softly. "What are you getting me ready for?" My voice quivers, no matter how hard I force it not to.

Jughead leans against the dressing table with his arms folded. "For the show of course!" he says playfully, that same smile on his lips. But I can sense how stiff he is. His dark eyes don't stray away from me. He cocks his head to the side. "You remember, right?"

"Of course she does,” Archie murmurs. When I look up, the red ribbon from earlier dangles from his fingers. My stomach sinks.

"Yes." Biting my lip, my gaze slides back to my lap. "Yes, I remember."

When Archie's finished with my hair, Veronica starts on my makeup. She dabs my cheeks with pale powder before applying pale purple eyeshadow. "Open your mouth," she orders, and I obey almost automatically. I can't help staring at the girl as she applies gloss to my lips. It smells like mango. Veronica is beautiful, like a china doll. I wonder how much of her is makeup and make believe. Is her perfect raven hair a wig? Is there a real girl underneath, silently crying out through that cheshire cat smile?

"Done!"

Whoever Betty Cooper is she doesn't wear much makeup. Veronica backs away and I flinch when Jughead comes over. There's a small white case in his hands.

"Contact lenses," he says when I stare at him.

I can't seem to make my mouth work. "No," I manage to splutter. "I don't-I don't wear them."

He chuckles. "Yes you do," he says, his tone splintering ice. When he opens the case and delicately presses one to his index finger my eyes water.

"No..." I moan, grabbing the arm rests of the chair. Archie grabs me almost automatically. He holds me down, gripping my shoulders. "Get off me!" I squeak. "I don't-I don't even know how to put them in!"

"No problem," Jughead murmurs. He's getting progressively closer. His warm breath tickles my cheeks once more. The boy's expression looks staged. "I'll do it for you," he says. "Ronnie, can you hold Betty's eyes open please?" He shakes his head with a quiet laugh. "It seems she's forgotten how to put in her contact lenses."

"What?" I stiffen. "No!" I squirm under Archie's grip. "No, Let me go!"

"Did you forget the rules?" Archie's fingernails stab into my shoulders. I bite back a scream. "Betty, you know we mustn't use profanity."

"What?" I struggle violently. The three of them share a glance, before Veronica nods, as if volunteering to be the one to calm me down. The boy's stay silent.

The raven haired girl dances towards me. "Silly Betty, don't be scared!" she giggles, kneeling in front of me. I can't bear the thought of her holding my eyes open.

"No, I'm-I'm okay!" I gasp out. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. My voice is a childish squeak.

"I'll-I'll do it myself!" Wrenching myself away from Archie's grasp, I grab the case from Jughead. His smile makes me feel sick.

After ten minutes of tackling with the lenses, my eyes are itching, streaming with tears. I'm barely able to breathe before a bundle of clothes are thrown into my arms and I'm shoved into a tiny bathroom outside the dressing room. Veronica follows me in and dresses me in Betty Cooper's wardrobe. She tells me to be perfectly still. I listen to her.

When the girl is zipping my dress, I swallow hard. "Please," I sound like a child. My eyes are itching again. I swipe at them angrily. "You have to let me go. I'm not the girl you think I am. I'm—"

"You're who?" Veronica smooths the creases in my dress. Her blue eyes are challenging, her tone teasing. She looks up for a moment, searching for a camera. I follow her gaze, raking my mind for my old name. The one I was born with. But it's lost.

I clench my fists. "My name is ____." I spit out. Veronica's eyebrow quirks. "Sorry, what was that?"

I try again. A dull pain thrums in the back of my head. "____!" I try and scream it. But no matter how hard I try, my name will not come out.

I can only splutter. The girl raises her eyebrows. "You're Betty Cooper, my best friend, my sister," she says softly. Before I can say anything, like spit out something I shouldn't, ask her real name, she's turning to go with a swish of velvet hair. "You've got five minutes before the show, Bets." She winks at me and I wince. "Break a leg!"

When the girl leaves, I'm finally on my own. The room is tiny. With only a mirror and a small stand with a bag of overflowing hair products. The dress is heavy on me, weighing me down. I pick up the skirt and take slow steps towards the mirror. I stumble in the pink heels Veronica had squeezed my feet into. I'm not, at least, I wasn't… I wasn't a girly person. I never used to wear heels like these. I preferred comfy converse.

I glare at the mirror, at the girl in front of me. It's like looking in a fun mirror. Betty Cooper stares back, wide eyed. When I lift my hand to trace the tear stains running down my cheeks, she copies. When my lip curls in disgust, so do hers.

My name is lost to me. But I remember who I was. I remember my short blonde curls, the striking green eyes that my mother used to call lucky. My dress sense was long sweaters and leggings with converse. When I wasn't at school or working part time at Domino's, I spent most of my days in my pajamas watching trashy Netflix shows.

Yes. My lips curve into a small smile. They didn't take all of me.

I can see traces of my old self. Pieces of me they couldn't remove; the stubby nose I'd inherited from my mother. It's the only thing that stops me from punching the mirror. The only way I can see my old self. Because the rest of me has been photoshopped.

Betty Cooper's skin is pale, cheeks flushed scarlet. Her cornflower blue eyes are half lidded, as if in a trance. I keep blinking, the contacts scratching my pupils. But I still glimpse the girl in perfect clarity. Her blonde hair is tied into a neat ponytail with a red ribbon. Her skin is flawless after Veronica scrubbed my body with wire brushes until my skin was burning red, until every patch of skin stung. My old clothes have been taken and incinerated, replaced with an old fashioned lime green dress and pink pinafore. When I tug at the dress the material slips easily through my hands. It's soft, expensive garment. I find myself smoothing my hands down the creases of the dress.

"Betty!" Veronica's standing outside the door. She knocks twice. "Are you ready?"

I don't know what to say. My body freezes up. The door opens, and the girl's standing there with that same bright smile. She dressed into a tight purple dress that hugs her perfect slim figure. Her hair is pulled back by a navy headband.

"Wait," I stagger backwards, but she sighs and grabs my arm.

"Sweetie, have you forgotten how much you love live shows?" she giggles, linking her arm with mine. She drags me down the same carpeted hallway. There are paintings strung up, colourful drawings that are suddenly familiar to me.

How? I've never been here before, how can I remember the paintings?

"Live shows?" I whimper. I want to drag my feet, but the heels will slip off and I'll cause another commotion.

It's impossible to escape. Every room is locked except for a set of automatic doors at the end of the hallway. The smell of freshly cooked bread tingles in my nose the closer we get. Veronica comes to an abrupt stop at the threshold, her hold on my arm tightening. She turns to me for a moment, her smile wavering. "Ready?" Her voice is soft.

I can only stare back at her. My lip quivers. A scream climbs up my throat but I swallow it. She doesn't wait for me to reply, dragging me inside before I can try and wrench myself away from her. My legs shake as I follow Veronica into what looks like a dining room. The walls are warm orange, the same paintings in the hallway dotted across the perimeter. There's a kitchenette in the corner; a refrigerator and oven packed under a curved marble worktop. Archie and Jughead are sitting at a long wooden table which has already been set. There are four plates and matching sets of cutlery. Jughead is sitting up straight with that same fake grin. "Finally!" he beams at me. "I was beginning to think Betty wasn't going to join us for dinner."

His voice grates my skull. It's far too high, almost cartoon like. Veronica is readying drinks in the kitchen. "Of course she's here, Jughead!" she giggles.

I can only stand stupidly. Veronica turns from her task pouring drinks. "What are you doing Archie?" My gaze follows hers to the redhead. He's leaned over on his chair, his eyes stuck to something in his hands. My heart jumps. It's a phone.

The boy looks up through thick strands of red curls hanging in his eyes. He's smiling but I can tell it's practiced. From the mischievous gleam in his eyes to the curl in his lips. "I'm just playing a game," he says, but when I inch closer to him, my stomach folds over. He's staring at a blank screen. the phone isn't on.

Frustrated tears spring to my eyes. My chest is aching. My gaze flitters around the room before glimpsing four red lights in each corner. Cameras. Veronica's words come back to haunt me and bile climbs up my throat. Live show. We're being watched right now.

No wonder the three of them have seemingly taken on exaggerated versions of the people they were pretending to be. I swallow hard. I don't even know how Betty acts!

"Betty, it's your turn to set the table." Veronica says without turning. I must look flustered because Jughead clears his throat. "I think there's food in the oven?"

My legs quake as I slowly make my way over to the oven. My head pounds, my stomach pinching with anxiety. They want me to play a role. I grab some oven mitts and open the oven, coughing when smoke flies in my face. There's a freshly made lasagne sitting on the middle shelf in a glass dish. I stare at it for a moment. The other three haven't left my side since I woke up here. Who cooked this?

"Betty?" Jughead's voice rings out. He sounds like a child. "Come on, I'm starving!"

Archie laughs. "You're always starving, Jug." There's a collective laugh between the three of them. I grab the lasagne before hurrying over and setting it on the table.

"Dig in," I spit, before taking the only empty seat next to Jughead. Veronica gets to work shovelling out lasagne to everyone. When she moves to my empty plate I shake my head. If I eat, I'll throw up. My cheeks burn at the thought of god knows how many people staring at me. "I'm okay," I say politely. Though my voice breaks. "I'm not hungry."

Veronica looks rattled for a moment. She hesitates, before her smile is back. "Nonsense!" she laughs lightly. "Betty, I'm sure you'll feel better after you've eaten."

My stomach lurches at the thought of eating. "I said I'm good," I say without looking up. I'm too scared to lift my gaze.

The girl hovers over me for a moment longer before moving onto Archie. I watch Veronica dump a piece of lasagne on the boy's plate with far too much force. Tomato sauce speckles her chin but she doesn't wipe it away. "Jughead," she says. When I glance at the boy his smile is strained. "Betty has forgotten the rules after being gone for a while," she continues to deposit dinner. "Can you remind her what happens when we don't follow them?"

Ice slides down my spine. Jughead scratches at the mahogany table with his fingernails. "We get punished," his voice broke. When I look at Archie, his eyes are wide. His over the top cheesy grin is gone.

Veronica nodded. She moves to me quickly, still holding the food. My stomach twists. "No." I rasp out. "No, I-I said I’m okay.”

Unable to hold myself any longer I stand up, stumbling from the table. After a moment, Veronica hisses in frustration. She sets down the glass dish. "The camera's have gone off," she says through her teeth. Archie and Jughead make twin noises of disdain. Veronica's icy blue eyes settle on me. All at once it’s as if the spell over the three of them has been broken.

"You need to eat it," she growls, in her normal voice. The one that slipped out when she got angry. That's the girl she's trying to hide. I shake my head stubbornly.

Veronica looks like she might hurl the lasagne at me. I stiffen but the girl only drops back down in her seat. "Sit down," she says. Her tone is defeated.

I nod, retaking my seat next to Jughead.

There's a long moment of the four of us sitting there. I can hear their heavy breaths as if anticipating something terrible.

At first there's a long beeping noise that fills the room. Before three short beeps.

"Fuck," Veronica swears. The girl she's tried hard to hide is splintering through the facade. She lets out a shaky breath. "It's the long beep."

"The long beep?" I repeat. "What's that?"

The girl doesn't answer. She only squeezes her eyes shut. I start to speak. What I'm going to say, I'm not sure. But before I can, there's a sudden ear piercing screeching rattling in my head. My first reaction is to scream, but I can't hear myself. It’s the lovechild of a dentist drill and car alarm, it splits into my brain, tearing it apart. It rips through my body, sending my legs and arms spasming.

I end up with my head pressed against the wood of the table, my hands clamped over my ears. But the noise persists. "What is that?" My lips move, but my voice is drowned by the noise. It's like a physical entity creeping inside me, snapping my spine, shattering every bone in my body. It races through my veins, turning my blood into ice.

I'm crying, screeching into the expensive wooden top of the dining table. But it continues, blaring, filling the room, filling me to the brim with poison. I'm barely aware of warm fingers peeling my hands from my ears when I spring up. My hair sticks to my face, glued to my cheeks. There's someone trying to force my hands away from my ears.

"No!" I press down harder on my drums. My brain is going to explode. The noise isn't going to stop. Pain inflates in the back of my skull. The rock hard grip on my ears slips for a moment and my attacker manages to pin my arms to the table. I'm screaming. But the noise is all I can hear. Jughead is the one holding my arms down. His face is contorted, but he's not crying or screaming. Across the table Veronica is sitting perfectly still. There's a tear sliding down her cheek, but her lips are pressed into a thin line.

She looks barely fazed. Archie's hands are trembling on the table, his lip quivering. But he stares straight forwards, his brown eyes half lidded. I can see the painful cry pricking on his lips. But he stays completely still. There's a thin line of scarlet pooling from his nostrils. Blood. My head spins. A noise powerful enough to make them bleed? No wonder they were so desperate to follow the rules. My thoughts become a foggy mess of confusion and I start to panic. I'm going to die. Oh god, we're going to die.

After what feels like a millennia has passed, the noise comes to an abrupt stop. I expect the others to pass out, but they quickly go back to what they call normal. Veronica wipes her eyes, and fashions her lips into another strained smile. Archie swipes at his bloody nose, grimacing. His voice quivers, but he manages to catch himself.

"Guys, the camera's are on in three… two..." His lilted accent slips out instead of the voice he normally uses. Part of me has missed it.

Archie tips his head back and scopes out the camera's glaring down at the four of us. I follow his gaze. My head is still spinning. The room swirls around as if I'm riding an out of control carousel. The cameras blink red and the redhead straightens up and resumes his role. He's smiling again. He shoves his trembling hands in his lap. Jughead doesn't speak. He sits closer to me and I can feel his quaking body against mine. His breaths come out in short gasps. It's the first time I've seen him let his guard down.

I want to move away from him. But the look on his face turns my gut. After a moment he takes a deep shaky breath. "Smile for the camera," he murmurs, his eyes dark. Before he snaps back into his exaggerated self. The boy leans away from me.

"Come on Ronnie!" he groans. "Get a move on, I'm starving to death!"

Veronica's laugh sounds so natural. "Give me a second, Juggie."

The girl hovers over me once more. That stupid slapstick smile is back on her lips. She's holding the cooling dish of lasagne once more and the smell is repulsive to me, but anything is better than the noise that just ripped my skull open. I look up and paste my best ear splitting grin on my face. "Betty?" She gestures to the food. Her cartoon voice is back. "Care for some dinner?"

I feel every gaze burning into me. Please. I can practically see the word in Jughead's bright smile. His eyes are screaming at me. I imagine his voice, the one he tries to hide. It's a strange kind of comfort knowing he's trapped like me. Somewhere, deep down, he's pushed down his old self.

"Please, God, just eat the fucking lasagne."

I have to be the girl they want me to be. If I don't, whoever's doing this can pull a switch and blow my brains out. The others have been through it before. Has it happened so many times that they've become desensitized to it? I can't help wondering what Jughead's first reaction was to it. It affects him the worse out of him, Veronica and Archie. They managed to keep neutral expressions but his face had been contorted in agony.

Swallowing bile climbing up my throat, I nod. I suppress the ever growing cry in the back of my throat. "Yes." I give each of them my best cheesy grin, even when my stomach is twisting and my heart feels like it's about to explode.

"Yeah, of course."

  
-

_"Your name!" Jughead yells. "Say it!"_

_"Get off me!" I splutter, trying to get the upper hand. But he's far stronger. My body feels weightless. There's no way I can fight back._

_"Come on!" Jughead has hold of my hair, tugging it violently. My eyes are squeezed shut, ice cold water fills me. It chokes my mouth, searing my throat. When the boy forces my head forwards again, everything is red. The rim of the bucket of ice water. My white shirt, splattered crimson. It drips from my burning scalp. I can taste it in the back of my throat. My head still spins from the drugs. I try and say my name, whimpering it, my fists clenched by my sides stubbornly. I refuse to say it. I will never say it._

_My name is ____._

_Oh god, my name, what is it?_

_"Say it, Archie!" the boy growls. He's losing his temper. He doesn't dunk me yet. I'm on my knees, staring into glacial water. There's red everywhere. It taints the water, stains my knees digging into marble flooring already ruined by red. The red confuses me. What is it? It's not blood. I'd know if it was. I rake my sloppy mind for an answer, but its barely responsive. I can only call it what I see. It's red. It's terrifying, glistening red painting every surface. Even me. I grit my teeth against a cry._

_"You're dead,” I hiss, struggling in Jughead's impenetrable grip. The boy only laughs._

_"We'll both be dead if you carry on like this, Arch," he says. "Now say your name nice and clearly for me and Ronnie here, or you're going ice bobbing."_

_"I'd do it if I were you,” Veronica chirps. I can sense her leaning over me too. "C'mon baby," she murmurs softly in my ear. Her icy breath makes my stomach turn._

_"Say your name and we'll stop," she purrs._

_I can't resist spluttering out a laugh. "You're both fucking crazy!" When I try and pull away, Jughead hisses out in frustration. Before I can stop him he's forcing my face into the bucket once more, and it's like hitting splintered glass. I hold my breath against the water, but it floods my nostrils, burning my throat. When I scream into the bucket, Jughead yanks me back, and I gasp for precious air. There's something tingling in the air, a smell my sluggish mind can't register. "Archie!" I cry out, spluttering ice water._

_Jughead's fingernails dig into the back of my neck and I squirm, yelping. "Archie what?" he demands. The boy hovers my face over the bucket once more and I stare, baffled, at strands of my hair dripping in my eyes, and then it hits me._

_My hair is red._

_"Archie what?" Jughead repeats. "Come on dude, I don't wanna do this again!"_

_"Andrews!"_

_Something in me snaps. All the rebellion that had burned inside me disperses. Jughead loosens his grip and lets out a relieved breath._

_I glare at the floor, trying not to think about the quick dye job the two of them had performed when I was out of it. I take quick breaths, holding in sobs constructing my chest. "My… my name is Archie Andrews."_

_"Finally," Jughead lets me go, but I don't move. I only stare hard at the bucket of swirling red water before he picks it up and pours the rest of it over my head. It hits like a wave and I cry out, curling into a ball. I'm numb. My skin prickles and my teeth chatter, my body trembling around me. "Please," I manage to splutter. "Stop."_

_"You better remember it."_

_Jughead's voice is the last thing I hear, along with the bucket landing on the floor next to me with a metallic clang._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos for more and tell me if you’re reading! It gives me motivation to write more :D Also: each chapter up to chapter 4 will reveal how each character ended up where they are now.


	3. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A photography student puts all his faith in a lie.  
> He should have stayed photographing butterflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing this fic so much omg. This part is long, but I hope you like it :D

**Student Name: ____________**

**Age: 16**

**Class: Photography and Media.**

**Assignment: Produce a digital and physical portfolio of a subject/object/animal that signifies beauty.**

**Grade: PENDING. (Due to unforeseen circumstances)**

**Date assigned: 03/15/2018**

**Date Due: 05/06/2018**

**Date evaluated: 01/17/2019**

**Notes: Due to the circumstances following _____'s disappearance, his grade is currently at an NYA. Mrs Jefferson has proposed that when ______ returns, he be granted a second opportunity to do the assignment. I've already spoken to the board. When ______ is found safe and well and is able to attend school, he may continue as normal with no added pressure.**

**Added notes (01/17/19) Due to the severity of _____'s case, we regret to withdraw him from the school. He was a delight to teach, and we wish his family the very best of luck in finding him.**

**Signed: Mr. A Wood.**  
**Principal.**

* * *

  _8 Months Earlier._

  
_I had the perfect shot._

_The Butterfly was beautiful. She crouched delicately, antennae twitching, iridescent wings spreading wide as if she could sense my amazement. Her name was Sarah, and she was the last thing standing between me and a decent grade in photography. Kneeling on damp grass, my hands quivering, I was the perfect example of a struggling high school student at the brink of a mental breakdown. I wondered if Sarah felt any sympathy for me._

_I must have looked pretty damn pathetic, knelt in my best pair of jeans, now covered in dirt thanks to chasing her across school grounds like an idiot. I was panting, sweat coating my forehead and back. The thin cotton t-shirt and jeans I'd thought were a good idea in the beginning of May glued to my skin. My hair wasn't much better; unwashed strands of mousy brown hair hanging in half lidded eyes. I normally wear sunglasses, but I have to use my naked eye to spy on Sarah. My backpack hung off my shoulder, spilling most of the contents. My coursework folder was on the ground, most of my planning and research spread out on the grass. I'd dropped it when Sarah had once again deceived me. She had led me on a wild goose chase, and damn, I must have looked crazy. It's not every day you see a sixteen year old boy chasing after a butterfly. Sarah wasn't my initial subject. When I'd first been tasked with the assignment I'd been excited to find the perfect muse._

_But then procrastination had gotten in the way. I'd finished most of the research for the written part of the project. But I was at a loss on what to photograph. It's not like I'm a stranger to a camera. I spent most of my time with the damn thing around my neck, snapping shots for the yearbook or just for fun. Though when it came to photographing something that would be judged and graded by my forty-something year old teacher, who can barely get a Youtube video to work on the interactive whiteboard? It nearly broke me. I started off having decent ideas for my shoot. I wanted to do something innovative, something that has never been done before. But after worrying and nearly driving myself mad over ideas and trying to get everything perfect, I'd ended up leaving everything to the last minute. Which meant my chances of expressing my passion were screwed._

_Sarah had been my last shot. The project was due at 5pm and she was the only thing I saw that morning. In my sleep deprived mind, she really was the definition of beauty._

_Squinting at the butterfly, I took slow breaths, willing her to stay on the damn leaf. It was the perfect angle. My camera was an old fashioned canon, and my baby. She hung from a black ribbon around my neck and had been my best friend since Freshman year._

_"Don't blow this for me, you little shit,” I glare at the butterfly. She and I had an arrangement. One sided of course. I'd threatened to step on her if she so much as moved, ruining the shot. And she just stared at me through her many insect eyes. I know butterflies couldn't talk, but I imagined Sarah having a British accent. High and squeaky. The type that would get annoying fast. The tingling aroma of mildew and flowers wavers in the air, riding on the breeze and I scrunch my nose up against a sneeze._

_"Stay..." I mutter, edging closer to her. The Californian sun is a bastard, a relentless scorching heat baking my back. But I don't move. Even when my body aches. Thanks to Sarah, I'd spent most of my morning in various questionable positions. Whether that was laying flat on my stomach while she danced across Mrs Lieb's prize flower collection, or awkwardly pressed against the bark of a tree as she flitted from leaf to leaf._

_Sarah stayed remarkably still as my lip pricked into a small smile. Gotcha. My finger hovering over the button trembles. I haven't eaten since yesterday, sometime around lunchtime. Food could wait. Mom and dad worked nights and my older brother was always at his friend's house, or making a racket in the garage. So there's nobody around telling me to eat, except from my rumbling stomach. I'd packed some pasta salad that morning, but refused to eat it until my assignment was in Mrs. Jefferson's podgy hands. Nothing was stopping me from getting this perfect shot. I'd chase Sarah all day if I had to._

_Some random indie band murmurs in my ears. Music helps me concentrate. I cock my head, narrowing my eyes at Sarah. She's frozen, her wings spread out. The colors make me dizzy. Dazzling red and blue. For a second, it was the perfect moment. A cool breeze ruffling my hair, a relief from the sun's cruel gaze. It wasn't strong enough to scare the butterfly, but just the right amount to cool me off. I shuffle closer, muttering more threats to Sarah. But she still doesn't move. Finally. I take a deep breath, my finger slowly pushing down on the capture button. So close… so perfect… so—_

_"Excuse me!"_

_The girl's voice startles me, splintering through my concentration. All at once my perfect shot is ruined when I nearly fall forwards, but manage to right myself before I can hit the grass. I spring up, wrestling with my camera to reclaim the shot. All while my heart stampedes in my chest, my breath coming out in short gasps._

_"Please no..." I mumble, half sobbing. "No, no, no..."_

_When I straightened up, my gaze flitting back to Sarah, she was gone. Something snapped inside me, a burning anger running through my veins. When I scan for those brilliant wings, there's movement in the air. There she was- taking off across the school grounds. I could practically hear her ugly British cackling. For a moment I was speechless, staring at the leaf where Sarah had perched, at possibly the best angle I'd ever get in my life. She was gone, and so were my chances at getting a decent grade._

_"Hey!" The voice comes again, and I spin around, gritting my teeth. Countless nights of no sleep and barely eating finally seem to hit me. My eyes sting with babyish tears and I swallow a cry at the back of my throat, tugging an earphone out._

_"What?!" I lash out._

_There's a girl standing in front of me. She looks around my age but I've never seen her before. She's beautiful. Far prettier than Sarah. Even if this girl wasn’t brandishing colorful wings, there was something about her. She looks like some kind of egyption goddess, glowing under the late morning sun. Her skin was warm honey, shining black hair was pure liquid obsidian tied into a ponytail. She wore a short blue dress and heels. Not exactly school appropriate. Though what caught my eye were the expensive pearls hanging from her neck. The girl was smiling brightly, despite my sour expression. "Sorry, I was going to ask if that was your car—" Her eyes widened, her gaze flicking to the tree where I'd had Sarah cornered. "Oh god, were you in the middle of something?"_

_I stare at her for a moment, trying really hard not to scream. My stomach is twisting, my heart pounding. Though then I follow her gaze to the car she's talking about. It's the kind of ride I could never afford, only fantasize about. I'd seen seniors driving these types; sparkling Vauxhall's and sports cars. I'm the proud owner of a second hand truck I got for my sixteenth birthday. The girl still peers at me hopefully, and I gesture to my scuffed up jeans, filthy from chasing Sarah and my muddy converse. The Levi's jacket wrapped around my waist is possibly the most expensive thing I own. Even the camera around my neck is ancient; a battered Canon I managed to dig out of the garage._

_"Do I look like the owner of a silver Hyundai?" I finally manage to say, exasperated._

_The girl smirks a little. "Right."_

_I can't help notice her eyes. They're a dazzling shade of blue. The kind I've dreamed about photographing. They were indigo, perfectly matching the color of her silk dress. I can't help viewing her as a subject, cocking my head. With the natural light of the sun, and the shadows hitting her just right… I suck in a breath. She'd be perfect. I fidget with my camera, wondering if it would be rude to ask if I could use her._

_The girl frowns at me. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"_

_Her accent is strange. She reminds me of one of those over-sexualised '50s cartoon characters. She's definitely not from around here. When I don't reply, irritation pricks in her expression and she waves her arms, no doubt trying to get my attention._

_Suddenly I'm self conscious of how bad my hair looks. I haven't washed it in a while. Though then again, there had been a significant decline in my hygiene all together. It's not like I forget to wash, but I'm almost sure I hadn't even bothered rolling on deodorant this morning. Even when its supposed to be one of the hottest days of the year._

_I snap out of it, scowling again. "Thanks for ruining my shot," I can't help spitting. When the girl looks confused I drop to my knees with a sigh, scrubbing my hands down my face. I'm so tired._

_To my surprise, she sits down too, drawing her golden legs to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and peers at me with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"_

_When I don't reply, the girl clears her throat, as if to start a conversation. She looks like the kind of person who never shuts up. I ball my fists in my eyes. "So, what are you doing?" She points at my overflowing backpack still on the ground. Then at my coursework folder still spilling its guts across the grass. I ignore her. Sarah is still on my mind. If I could somehow figure out a way how to find her, maybe I could get that promising shot._

_"Hey," the girl waves her arms again. Finally I look at her, pressing my lips together. She cocks her head thoughtfully, "Okay, let me guess." She stretches out on her back, kicking her heels off casually. I barely know her and she's acting as if we've known each other our whole damn lives. "You have a photography project due in later and you're rushing it."_

_When my eyes widen slightly, she giggles and fixes me with another grin. "Am I right?"_

_With a defeated sigh I move to sit cross legged, resting my camera in my lap. I try and smile, but my teeth are gritted. "You psychic or something?" I mumble sarcastically._

_Her lip quirks. She's happy with my response. "No, just observant," she says. "I watched you chase a butterfly for half an hour, you look like you haven't slept in about a month, your portfolio looks like it's seen better days annnnd," she pulls a face, "your lunch is currently spilling out of your bag."_

_The girl is right. When I follow her gaze, there's bits of lettuce and tomatoes covered in mayonnaise leaking onto the grass. The pasta salad. I inwardly groan. I knew I should have tightened the lid on the container. The girl laughs and my foul mood returns. "Nice observation Nancy Drew," I mutter, doing my best to clean up the mess. I scrape what's left of my lunch — limp lettuce and soggy pasta — onto the grass and dump my stinking books back into my bag. The girl watches silently. When I finally meet her gaze, I can't help scowling again. "Are we done here?"_

_There's something about her smile that makes my shoulders relax. It's not every day I speak to these types of girls. She's practically a ray of sunshine, a permanent sweet smile that’s suddenly contagious. The type of person that's constantly optimistic, which would normally piss me off. Though her voice is bugging me. I've never heard anyone like her before. She speaks with an endearing, flirtatious tone. But it's not like she's hitting on me, it feels more like she's trying her best to get to know me. Why was she watching me in the first place? Though actually, a teenage boy chasing a butterfly around school grounds, at times cursing loudly at it, is definitely entertaining._

_"Hey, I didn't mean to sound creepy," the girl says quickly. "It's just… you did look pretty funny running around."_

_"Thanks," I mutter. Then after a beat I clear my throat, starting to get up. My legs cramp up. "Okay, well it was nice meeting you, whoever the hell you are." I salute her with another sour smile. "I'm gonna go dunk my head in a deep fryer."_

_"Wait—"_

_The girl opens her mouth, perhaps to protest, but I'm tired. Sarah is gone, and so are my chances of getting a good grade. "No, whatever you're going to say, save it," I say, getting to my feet quickly, lugging my bag and folder. I want to yell at her, accuse of her of ruining my project and scaring Sarah away. But I've never been that type of guy. If I'm pissed or angry, I usually bottle it up inside until I can't take it anymore and start raging._

_The girl doesn't move, though I'm not surprised. Except something's keeping me standing there looming over her. I'm not sure what it is. My feet are glued to the grass. "I'm sorry about your project," she says softly. "Let me make it up to you?"_

_When I look at her, she's smiling hopefully. Her indigo eyes sparkle in the sun, her skin so smooth, so perfect. I roll my eyes at her. "In what way?" The thought of chasing butterflies with this girl makes me cringe. It was bad enough with me doing it, but she looks like she'd be laughing the entire time, turning it into some kind of game._

_The girl's lips curl into a smirk. "May I be of assistance?"_

_I fold my arms. "Do I really look like I need help with a camera?_

_She laughs lightly. "No, I mean I'll do it for you." My chest clenches when she meets my eyes. "Photograph me," she says. Before I can say anything, my heart racing, she grins. "Relax! I'm a model, I do it all the time.” The girl jumps up and slides back into her heels so effortlessly. She moves so gracefully; I'm mesmerized. "Also," her eyes twinkle, "there's a really cool place I know where we can do the shoot, I go there for work."_

_I raise my eyebrows. But the idea of photographing her sends shivers down my spine. With the right muse, the pictures could look professionally taken. And she was perfect. If I could get the correct angle, and if we wait for midday when the sun sits in the middle of the horizon, the shadows will hit her in all the right places. "Don't you have class?"_

_The girl shrugs. "I have a free period," she says. "What do you say?"_

_"Sure." It's my first genuine smile. I can't seem to stop myself grinning, when she nods, sealing the deal. "I mean you're not a butterfly, but I'm sure you'll do. What do they call you?"_

_"Hmm?" she frowns, as if she hadn't heard me correctly._

_"Your name," I chuckle nervously, playing with the ribbon on my camera. "What's your name?"_

_"Oh!" Her lips stretch into another dazzling smile. A smile I can't wait to snap. "I'm Veronica." She holds out her hand for me to shake. "Veronica Lodge."_

_I frown at her hand before taking it awkwardly. But there's a weird taste in my mouth, something nudging at the very back of my mind. I know that name from somewhere. Where from, though? The name sounds old. Who names their kid Veronica these days? Though there's something else. That name lights up at the back of my thoughts, and no matter how hard I dig, I can't figure it out. I know the name. Damn, where have I heard it?_

_"Pleasure doing business with you Veronica Lodge." I'm smiling, but even saying her name, it feels strange. "I'm—"_

_"You're Butterfly." Veronica's lip quirked, and I smiled uneasily._

_"What?"_

_"Butterfly," she grins. Veronica's smile only gets brighter. "I've been calling you it since I first lay eyes on you." Her tone turned almost dreamy. She was sinking into that weird accent again. What a strange girl. Her name… Damn, there's something about it._

_"Okay sure," I shrug. The name 'Butterfly' has a ring to it. "Screw my name, call me Butterfly then." Smiling easily at her, I start to wonder if I've just made my first real friend. First there was my camera, then Sarah. Though she did betray me and fly away._

_Veronica nods eagerly. "Okay! So I know a place." She's grabbing my arm and dragging me across the grass before I can fully register her words. I manage to shove my folder in my backpack and shoulder it._

_"You know a place?" I can't help scoff, following her quickly. My camera bounces on my chest as I quicken my pace to meet hers. "That's shady."_

_She shoots me the side-eye. "Relax, It's an abandoned skate park, it's perfect for a sunny photo shoot!" Veronica grins when I roll my eyes again. With Veronica, I feel like I'll be rolling my eyes a lot. But admittedly, she's good company. I've been talking to butterflies most of the morning, so having actual human conversation is nice. She grabs my hand, swinging it playfully. "Dude, we're gonna have so much fun!"_

_Her energy is dizzying. I can barely keep up with her. She has a wicked grip, keeping hold of my arm. I end up awkwardly stumbling after her as she marches through the parking lot. Her movement is captivating. Golden skin shining underneath the late morning sun, her blue dress swishing side to side with every click of heels on the asphalt._

_When Veronica pulls me over to a shiny red Tesla I can't help letting out a laugh. "This is your ride?" I startle at the beauty in front of me and snap a quick photo, marvelling at it. The girl shook her head, patting the bumper. "I'm borrowing it from a friend," she says as the passenger door slid open on its own. I take it in, baffled. The best function my truck has is the built in stereo and I still can't get the damn radio to work. Veronica Lodge's car looks like something from the future. When I jump into the passenger seat the upholstery is sleek, expensive leather I want to melt into. The wheeler is a simple five seater but I'm pretty sure one of the doors is more than my parents’ mortgage._

_When I lean forward there's a funky looking screen that looks voice controlled. Tracing my fingertips over my seat I can't keep the grin off my face. There is no way I'm inside a Tesla. A thought springs to my mind: How could Veronica Lodge, or her 'friend' even afford this ride? Teslas are crazy expensive. It's not even an old model, I recognize the touch screen constantly advertised on commercials. How rich was this girl?_

_Veronica gets in, throwing her bag in the back. I look for a seatbelt, pawing around my seat, but I can't see one. "Hey, where are the seatbelts?"_

_The girl grabs a pair of sunglasses from the dashboard and slides them on. "Wait for it." She shoots me a smile and I can only stare back._

_"What?" I lean back, chuckling. "Is it bad that I'm scared?"_

_The girl giggles. "You're funny," she starts tapping at commands on the screen. When she's finished she leans back and grabs the steering wheel. "Power on," she says. I flinch when the car comes to life. Something zips across my chest and I automatically panic. Though when I grab it, my fingers brush across the familiar polyester material that's in my truck. Veronica laughs. "Relax, it's your seatbelt!"_

_I shuffle uncomfortably. The seat belt is far too tight. I try and loosen it but the damn thing just springs back, restraining me to the seat. When the car flies forwards, my gut twists. "Hey, can you tell your weird voodoo car to loosen the damn seatbelt?"_

_"Hmm?" As we steer through traffic, Veronica glances at me quickly. "Oh, your belt?" She rolls her eyes. "You'll get used to it. Trust me, it's just a safety precaution." She fumbles around in the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of Coke._  
  
_"Here," Veronica chucks the bottle in my lap. "You must be thirsty," she fans her face with one hand before tapping the screen again. "Air conditioning on." the girl commands._

_I shake my head politely. "I'm good," I say with a smile. The seat belt is still tight over my chest. "Veronica, your car is fucking insane."_

_The girl laughs lightly, her eyes on the road. "I know right?" I don't recognize the route we're taking. Straightening up in my seat I press my face against the tinted windows. "So where exactly is this abandoned skatepark?"_

_"It's somewhere around here," Veronica pushed her glasses out of her eyes and squinted at the windscreen. "Don't worry, we'll find it," she elbows me playfully. "Oh, and I'd drink that if I were you, it's super hot."_

_I frown at the bottle in my lap. When I pick it up, it's freezing. "Let me guess, you have a mini fridge," I smirk at the girl and screw off the cap before taking a long swig. God, it's refreshing. Basking in the relief of the coke running down my throat I lean in my seat with a long sigh. "Thanks for doing this again, Veronica."_

_"Of course!" the girl trills. "What are friends for, Jug?"_

_"Hm?" The girl's words strike me as odd, but I don't question her. The heat is probably getting to me. I get comfier in my seat, leaning against the window. The sun is warm, bathing me in mellow, golden light. I lift my head and smile at it. I'm not sure how long I spend staring at the window, before my eyes grow heavy. Crap, am I really zonking out now? Blinking rapidly I sit up. But a dull fog has settled over my mind, turning it into candyfloss. "Veronica." my voice is a slur I can't help, and the girl turns._

_"What is it?" The girl's voice sounds like an echo, as if she's a million miles away. But I see her right in front of me. Her lips move, and I sense every word._

_In my mind, which feels like it's been dipped in molasses, Veronica Lodge is suddenly surrounded by a sparkling golden aura. When she smiles, her eyes widening with worry, her hair turns rainbow colored. I gasp in awe. Wow. It's beautiful. More beautiful than the girl herself. I grab for my camera, but it slips from my clumsy grasp._

_"Oh shit..." I can't help giggling, grabbing for my camera again. But I only grasp thin air. "Shit, am I high?"_

_"No, sweetie, you're not high." Veronica's tone is suddenly serious, and I snap out of it for a moment, blinking rapidly. "Sh...shit..."_

_Fuck. My mind works fast, trying to catch up. When I squirm in my seat, something rolls off my knees. It lands on the floor by my foot and my eyes follow it slowly, my heart beginning to pound. The bottle of Coke. "Did you druh...drug me?" I can't stop myself from slurring, it's driving me crazy. Veronica tightens her grip on the steering wheel._

_"Okay Butterfly," the girl's eyes stay glued to the road. When I look out of the window, there's only blinding light, spellbinding colors dancing across the panes. "What's your real name?"_

_I stare at her stupidly. "My nameeee?" Damn it, stop slurring!_

_"My name is ____." I say, and then frown when my name doesn't come out like it's used to. Huh. Well that's never happened before. "Sorry, I- meant...my name is _____."_

_It happens again. Groaning, I rake my fingernails down my face. "Why can't I say my- my name?" for some reason my eyes sting. When I try and paw for my name, it's not there._

_"My name!" I find myself yelling, struggling in my seat. "My name is-"_

_"Jughead." Veronica says. Her tone surprises me; cold. It sends shivers rattling down my spine. Though so does the name. I blink again. Veronica Lodge and Jughead. I know those names, I know them! But like mine, when I try and dig for them, they're lost._

_"Jughead, calm down." the girl reaches out to rub my shoulder, and I flinch away as if she's got a contagious disease. "I'm sorry it's come to this."_

_"What?!" My deteriorating mind cries out. "Why do you keep- keep calling me that?" I bite my lip. "That's not my name, I'm...fuck, I'm..." just like Sarah, my name is gone. For a moment I flounder, my lips moving, trying to utter a name that's no longer there. I grip the leather of my seat. "Let me out." I manage to whimper. I batter the windows with my fists, pressing my face against the glass. "I said- I said leh- let me out!"_

_Veronica doesn't look at me. Though I'm not sure, the world is moving so fast, colors flashing in front of my eyes. I struggle in the seat belt, trying to force the strap off my chest. But it springs back and I'm unable to keep in a soft sob. "Please!" when I jump up and try to grab her, the seatbelt yanks me back. Veronica lets out a shaky sigh._

_"Jug, you have to stay calm, okay? I..." she trails off, before seemingly steeling herself. "I know you probably want to kill me right now, but I swear-"_

_"Jug?" I splutter, forcing my voice not to slur. I can feel my limbs starting to freeze up. My battering arms fall to my sides and as much as I try and hold it up, my head sags. "Why...why do yuhhh...you keep cahhl...calling me that, huh?"_

_"Because it's your name, sweetie," Veronica replies. Her voice is soft once more. I let my eyelids flutter shut, even when my mind is screaming at me to fight back. But I'm so tired. So fucking...tired. The movement of the car lulls me, and just as my mind starts to give up and my neck chafes the seatbelt, Veronica lets out a strangled sob._

_"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please- oh god, please..." she trails off into whispered sobs and sniffles. I want to speak to her, but my lips aren't working. When I try and lift my head I manage to glimpse through fluttering lashes. There's something outside the window. The movement is quick, flitting across my vision._

_Huh. There's a flash of red and blue, blurring together, before disappearing completely. Veronica is still sobbing, and I let my head finally drop. The last thing that skates my thoughts is quick, there and gone before I can fully register it._

_Sarah._

_The little shit had come back after all._

* * *

My head is still spinning after nearly having my brain blown apart. I'm too scared to play my role as Betty Cooper. In case I say or do something wrong. The camera's stay on for all of dinner. While the other three talk animatedly in high pitched voices, I stay quiet and force myself to eat.

My throat burns with bile, but I swallow down every mouthful. The lasagna tastes like cardboard. As if the food is as fake as the four of us, our fantasy friendship and the room around us. I can't help looking around. This entire room is some kind of set. Someone set all of this up. I tighten my grip around my fork, gritting my teeth. Who was doing this? More importantly, why? Why us?

I can't lose myself. Who I was. Staring down at my plate I blink back stupid, babyish tears pricking at my eyes. I can't cry. Not here. What if Betty Cooper never cried, what if she was emotionless? Taking a deep breath, I swipe my eyes quickly and pierce another piece of pasta. The smell makes my stomach turn, but I force the forkful in my mouth and chew mechanically. Bite, swallow, chew. I say it in my head with every mouthful, forcing down the ever pressing urge to vomit. There's a glass of water by my plate but I don't trust it.

The clang of forks scraping on plates grates in my ears. The others seem so calm...acting as if everything was perfectly normal, that we weren't tortured with an ear splitting noise because I refused to eat my dinner. I know they're not completely brain dead, having lost themselves to these role's. I've heard Archie's real voice, slipping out. His lilted accent. When Veronica got angry earlier, her real self had shined through. She wasn't the perfect, sweet Veronica Lodge she wants us all to believe. She has sworn, despite profanity being against the rules. That look in her eye when I had refused to eat. It had terrified me. How the girl's expression could change so quickly, flitting from sickly sweet to tormented in seconds flat.

After the noise had shaken us up Jughead had let his guard down for a matter of seconds. The brainwashed grin wiped off his face, a contorted look of agony taking its place. These kids were like me. I'd seen the real them, even if they hadn't meant me to.

I'm not alone. The thought comforts me, even it's for just a second.

I look up, my gaze flicking between them. Veronica still has that plastic grin as she digs into her food. She's talking about something, but I can barely understand her. Her voice is like a distant echo. Archie sits next to her, picking at his own dinner.

He too has a smile on his lips, his brown eyes lit up almost manically as he grins at whatever Veronica is talking about. When I turn to Jughead, he's eating like an animal, shoving food in his mouth. There's tomato sauce splattered all over his chin and lips. He looks up every so often to laugh at something Archie's said, because apparently Archie is a fucking comedic genius. Everything he says, the other two laugh at him hysterically.

It's like being stuck in an episode of Friends. Except it's a twisted, horrific version when the characters are over exaggerated to the point of absurdity and there's a laugh track every five seconds. It's eerie. Their combined laughter sounds natural, as if they're urging an imaginary audience. A thought strikes me; the people who are watching us right now, are they laughing too? Do they think this is real?

I try and laugh along, but nothing Archie says is funny, even hysterical enough to draw a fake laugh from me. When Jughead isn't laughing at Archie, I catch him glaring down at his plate before he starts stuffing his face. I can't help watching him. He looks like he's in a trance, shoving food in his mouth like his life depends on it. I swallow hard. His appetite is making me feel sick again. When Jughead finally meets my eye he grins through a mouthful of chewed up lasagna. It hits me that he's doing the same as me. He's forcing his food down. Archie and Veronica are picking at theirs, but he's acting as if he hasn't eaten in three months. For a second I want to break through this facade, through this fake reality and speak to him. Though what would I say?

How do I speak to the boy who tortured me with ice water?

The memory sends shivers skittering down my spine. He took my name from me. I look away quickly, staring down at my plate. Except Jughead is on my mind, no matter how hard I try and push him away. The boy who had fooled me in the first place and stole me from the streets I thought were safe. He took me from my life and brought me to this hell. So why can't I stop thinking about the twist of pain in his lips, his haunted eyes as he continued to ram lasagna down his throat? He's in agony, a distant thought murmurs.

I don't care. My throat burns. He took me.

My stomach twists, sweat beading down my forehead. No, I can't throw up. I clamp my mouth shut and shove my fisted hands in my lap. I can taste the lasagna creeping back up my throat. Tears burn in my eyes. "Betty?" the voice is a welcome distraction. The fog in my mind disperses for a moment, the others voices splintering back into reality.

I blink rapidly before remembering the stupid smile I'm supposed to plaster on my lips, and clear my throat loudly, set down my fork. I can sense millions of eyes on me, unable to stop the blush spreading across my cheeks. "Yes?" I fix Veronica with my best smile and the girl mirrors it. The three of them are looking at me. Even Jughead, who's still chewing loudly. "What did you do today, Betty?" the girl asks, and her question catches me off guard. I know exactly what happened to me today. I was kidnapped by a boy who lured me into a false sense of security. I was tortured with ice water and my name was taken from me. My name... I can't remember it. The longer I'm here, playing this sick game, It's getting harder and harder to look for it. My name is.. _____

My name is _____

I try again. This time I focus on who I was. I went to Sunnydale High School. My best friend was Mara Stokely, a girl I've known since kindergarten. My parents are....my parents...I know I had parents, but when I try and drag memories of them there's nothing there. Like someone or something is taking over my mind, drowning my old self.

Delving deep into my memories, I grasp at anything. I had a boyfriend when I was fifteen. Max. We broke up because he was a lousy kisser. My sister. Her name...her name is-

My sister's name is gone. Though I can still picture her, even if the image is blurry, slowly being drowned by fog. She has my short blonde curls and our mother's green eyes. My sister was beautiful. Always smiling. There was something big that had happened to her. Enough for me to remember my own happy sobbing. The feeling of tears running down my face is suddenly there tingling on my cheek, fresh in my memory.

Salty tears on my lips as I laughed at something she said. There was glowing sunlight filtering through a huge glass window. Something was in my arms, a warm bundle I couldn't let go of.

When I try and pry further into the memory, it splinters, breaking apart. I'm left with a carnivorous hole growing inside my mind, blanking everything out. It's eating up my nameless sister, and I can't stop it. I want to cry, I want to scream, but I'm sure another freak out will end in punishment. They took my name, and now they're taking my memories.

I want to hold on to them, keep them safe against the force inside my mind.

This is bullshit. I want to say it, cry it until my throat is raw.  
  
The words are in my throat, soaked with venom threatening to pour out of me. I want to tell everyone watching that this isn't real, that this isn't me. They took my name...they're taking my memories! How much longer until I lose myself completely?

I catch Archie's expression. His desperate eyes, the curl in his lip. Don't. He's silently screaming at me. Veronica looks stricken. She pushes her plate away.

She's regretting asking me. I suck in a breath. "I-" everything I want to say is choked in my throat. But I can't speak. There's still a dull thrumming in the back of my skull from the noise earlier. The ever pressing threat of punishment still haunts me.

"She helped me today!" Jughead jumps in with a wide smile. When I turn to him, my heart stampeding, throat burning, he nods at me, still grinning. "Right Betty?"

When I don't speak, he takes a long swig of his water before setting the glass down before settling the twosome sat across from us with a mischievous smirk. The spikes on his crown look real. Sharp enough to draw blood.

"Betty and I have been doing some sleuthing."

"Ooooh!" Archie and Veronica chorus. They lean forward in sync and I bite my lip against a laugh. It's ridiculous. It's completely fucking ridiculous. I've lost my name, forgotten my own sister, and yet a hysterical bubble of laughter is ready to tear from my lips. Archie cocks his brow at Jughead. "You gonna tell us what you guys were doing?"

Jughead rubs his hands together, and shoots me a sly smile. I can only stare back helplessly. "Well, a bunch of kids at school are acting a little weird," he explains. "Betty and I managed to sneak into the teachers lounge at lunch."

"And?" Veronica urges the boy to carry on. "Come on, Jones! Don't leave me hanging!"

Jughead opened his mouth to speak, but his gaze flicks to the cameras for a moment, before he shuts it and taps his nose. "Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow." he said, chuckling when Veronica and Archie groaned loudly.

"Come on man, you always do that!" Archie laughed, leaning over the table and shoving the boy playfully. Jughead grinned. "You've got like one brain cell Arch, you wouldn't be able to handle my story tonight."

"Jughead's right though," Veronica stood up and grabbed her plate. She too had glanced at the camera's. I wonder if the three have figured out when they go off air.

Veronica flits across the table, piling the others plates on top, grabbing the cutlery and glasses. She exaggerates a yawn before heading to the sink and dumping the dirty plates on the countertop. "It's time for bed, guys. It's been a long day."

Are they serious? There are no windows in the room. I haven't seen a single one in the bathroom or dressing room.

Archie and Jughead jump up eagerly and the redhead stretches.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired," he murmurs. I see his quick glance at the camera's. Jughead nods. "Betty, do you want me to show you our room?"

"What?" flinching, I can't seem to be able to suppress the confusion on my face, or hide the disgust lingering in my tone. The boy smiles easily before coming over and taking my hands gently. My breath catches. I want to pull away, but his grip is tight. "Betty, you're my girlfriend," he murmurs softly. "Of course we sleep together."

I stare at the boy for a moment, his words sending chills down my spine. Jughead cocks his head. "Right Betty?" he says gently. When his fingernails dig into my hands I swallow a cry and nod. He doesn't let go of my hands until we're out of the kitchen, the four of us apparently going off to bed. Though I'm not even sure of the time. Veronica and Archie wander off, hand in and hand. I wonder if they're 'dating' too. Though they seem much more comfortable with each other. Before they announced their retirement to bed, the two of them shared a kiss while Jughead pretended to gag. Probably for comedic effect.

As I follow Jughead reluctantly down the same narrow, carpeted hallway, I can't resist looking up. There are cameras stuck to every corner, blinking red. I grit my teeth, glaring at them. "Betty, hurry up!" Jughead calls down the hallway.

I consider ignoring him and making a run for it. I don't know where I'll go, and in this dress and heels- not far. But anything...oh god, anything is better than go with him.

But I have no choice. If I don't go where I'm supposed to go, do what I'm supposed to do, all four of us will be punished. Slipping out of my heels, I walk barefoot down the hallway, until I reach a door labelled " **BETTY AND JUGHEAD**."

My stomach turns. When I walk inside, I find myself in a pastel pink bedroom. There's a double bed, a white wardrobe and posters dotted all over the walls. I don't recognise any of them. Apart from that it looks like any other teenage girl's room. Jughead has changed out of his knitted S jumper and is pulling on what looks like a pajama shirt.

"You should get ready for bed, Betts," he says. His back is to me, and I'm suddenly mesmerized by his golden skin. The tendons in his back twitch when he bends down to grab a navy blue pair of cotton pants. He's taken off his crown which sits on the baby pink bedspread. His hair looks different; unruly dark curls he runs his hands through.

"I don't have any pajamas." I manage to whisper. When my gaze settles on the ceiling, skipping over the bright, fluorescent light bathing the room in a mellow glow, I spy a camera and my heart drips into my stomach.

"Yes you do," Jughead points to a bundle of pink on what looks like my side of the bed. I walk over slowly, keeping my distance from the boy. When I go to grab the comfy looking pink shorts and t-shirt, my gaze flickers to a photo frame on the bed stand.

I recognize Archie, Veronica and Jughead automatically. Though not how I know them. Archie's dressed in a modern Letterman jacket, blue and gold streaks over his shoulders, his vibrant red hair sticking up in every direction, while Veronica wears a blue denim jacket, a baseball cap over her dark hair. Jughead bears a beanie instead of a crown, his brown curls hanging in much brighter eyes. They're smiling, their arms wrapped around each other, and I sense no suppressed pain or anger. They really were happy. Though there's someone else there too. A blonde girl with an identical grin on her face. She has striking green eyes, my mother's nose jutting out at an odd angle, wearing a baby pink dress, her blonde curls sitting on pale, exposed shoulders. I blink to see if I'm seeing things, then I squeeze my eyes shut. I'm dreaming. I tell myself. Wake up...

Oh god, wake up!

My eyes flutter open and I can only stare at the girl in the photograph. The girl whose eyes are so happy, her smile so sweet. Nausea curls in the pit of my stomach.

The girl in the photo is me.

But I've never met these kids before. How could I possibly be in this picture?

"This girl..." I can't help whispering, tears springing to my eyes. I reach out for the photo frame, tracing trembling fingers over her face. My chest aches, a sickly feeling curling in my gut. Warm hands close over mine, and I feel his breath on my neck. Hot and heavy. When I look up Jughead is standing over me. I can't read his expression. He stares at the picture for a moment, before shaking his head, letting out a soft breath.

"Betty, you should really start getting ready for bed." He gently takes the photo frame before setting it back on the stand.

For a disorienting second I want to argue with him. I want to ask him about the girl in the photo, why she looks so much like me. Why my eyes sting when I look at the four smiling kids and- and myself. But Jughead's gaze is hard and piercing.

I nod and wrench my hands from his before quickly slipping out of the dress and into the pajama's I've been given. There's no privacy in this tiny room. Once upon a time I would have been terrified of undressing in front of a boy. But he's seen me at my lowest, completely drained of my dignity, sitting naked in a bathtub while he doused me in ice water.

When I'm finished dressing, Jughead has already gotten into bed. He's laying with his back to me, the cover pulled up over his head. After a moment of watching him, once again getting the overwhelming urge to run, he sighs loudly. "Betty, just get in."

I slip in after him quickly, burying myself in pillows that smell like peach and mango perfume. I can't sleep. There's no way I'll be able to. Curling up, I make sure I'm as far away from Jughead as possible and after laying there for what felt like hours, trying to shut my mind up, trying to think of a way to explain why I'm in a photo I don't remember being in. Jughead shifts in bed. I stay frozen and grip the duvet tightly.

There's a pause and I hold my breath. Though I sense him moving to the foot of the bed. When I risk a peek, he's curled into himself, his head sandwiched in his arms.

"What are you doing?" I can't help ask. I want to bite my words back. Though the boy has shrugged the covers off himself. He's shivering.

"I figured you didn't want to sleep with me next to you, so I moved." he says after a moment. I frown at him. Now I have this tiny piece of freedom and can speak freely, all I want to do is talk to him. "Can we..." I drift off and he sits up suddenly, dark curls hanging in half lidded eyes. I can't help flinching. Though the manic gleam I was so used to seeing in his eyes is gone. He just looks tired, peering at me curiously.

"Can we talk?" Jughead finishes for me, quirking a brow. "Not yet..." he mutters before grabbing the cover and throwing it in the air. It settles on the two of us like a tent. Jughead shuffles uncomfortably before sitting cross legged. I copy him, shivering underneath the thin blanket. I should be trying to get away from him, but this isn't Jughead. My mind murmurs. This is the boy underneath. The prisoner, like me.

The boy fixes me with a small smile. "Now we can." he says. "The camera's are on 24/7 but I'm pretty sure not many people are watching." before I can reply, he chuckles. Not the fake Jughead laugh he did earlier. It's a real laugh.

"Hi, nice to meet you," he holds out his hand for me to shake. "I'm..." the boy scrunches up his face and his hand drops.

"I'm...Someone," he says softly before fixing me with a look. "We don't have long. The gamma's going to start taking effect, so whatever you want to say, talk to me now."

"Gamma?" is all I can spit out. "What's that?"

The boy shrugs. "They drug the food to keep us in line and foggy headed," he laughs bitterly. "Eventually it'll corrode your mind and you'll forget who you were."

Jughead must see my expression, his eyes darkening. "In the long run, that is," he says. "In the short? it just makes us sleep when they want us to sleep."

I nod mechanically. It's all I can do. My eyes suddenly become heavy, and I can't resist a yawn. I lay down, my head starting to spin slowly. I want to sleep, but the photograph still haunts my mind. The girl with Archie, Jughead and Veronica was irrifutably me. But I've never met any of them before today. Before Jughead dragged me from the streets and brought me here. "Who were you?" I can't help asking the boy. My voice is thick.

"Who was I?" There's movement when Jughead copies me, curling into himself but staying at the foot of bed. It's weird. Some part of me wants him next to me. "No fucking idea." he sighs. "I've almost forgotten," the boy sounds like he's buried his head in his pillow. "I thought I could hold on to it, but the longer I stay here, in this fucking fever dream, I start to believe this is my life. That I'm actually Jughead Fucking Jones."

I close my eyes and wait for the drugs to drag me under. Though Jughead's voice comes again, slurred. "Hold onto yourself with everything you've got Betty Cooper," he says, "or whoever the hell you were." after a pause, I hold my breath against a sob. I'm going to end up like him. Forget who I was. "Tell me something about yourself," he murmurs. "Anything." when I don't reply, his voice splinters. "Please, I need to know something that isn't this shitty fantasy world," he whispers. "What did you do before..."

"Before you took me?" I can't help saying. My breath catches.

"Yeah, before that."

I splutter into my pillow. There are tears rolling down my cheeks, but I don't wipe them away. "I remember that I watched Netflix a lot."

There's a pause before the boy lets out a soft hum.

"What's Netflix?"

The boy's words shouldn't scare me. But they send chills down my spine. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding?" he murmurs. "It's eating me, Betty. Everything I was has faded, and all that's left is...is him," his voice breaks. "Jughead Jones."

"You don't remember anything?" I whisper, my chest aching. "At all?"

There's a pause, and I wonder if he's fallen asleep. "There is one thing," he mumbles, his words are slowly lulling me to sleep. I mutter something incoherent, pulling the covers tighter around myself. It's freezing, but Jughead stays curled up without any of the duvet. Something pricks inside me, an urge to kick the blanket over to him.

"A butterfly," Jughead says, when I'm drifting off. It's been a while since either of us have spoken. His voice echoes in my head, a childlike murmur.

"All I remember is a butterfly."

 

* * *

_I wake up handcuffed to something. Though my blurry mind fails to figure out what it is. For a moment I let myself be pulled back into reality which splits open around me. Through flickering lashes I see...white. Everything is white. "What?" my voice is still slurred. When I fully come to I find myself in a bathtub. I'm naked, except from my boxer shorts. Which someone's had the decency to leave on. My hands automatically go to grab my camera, but its gone from around my neck. Fuck. My head pounds. When I try and sit up, my body flails helplessly against the marble tub. I'm in someone's bathroom. There's what looks like a fancy shower. The walls are ocean blue tiles that make me dizzy when I stare at them for too long. But my mind feel like sludge, like its dragging itself through molasses. I focus on the things that count. My name. I take a deep breath._

_My name is ____. Once again, my mind is blank. When I try and say my name the words get twisted in my mind, entangled, until all that comes out is...nothing. But I know my name. I know who I am. I'm...I'm _____. I'm an amateur photographer. Everything is a blank, and frustrated tears well in my eyes. No, I know my name. I've gotta know my own fucking-_

_I lose my train of thought when I find my gaze scanning the bathroom floor. White tiles. Though what confuses me, sending my heart into a frenzy, is the splashes of crimson painting the tiles. It looks like someone's dumped red paint all over the floor. But I know better. It's not mine. My body is still intact. Though I can't help notice the hair from my legs has been removed. When I look down at my chest, it's the same. My skin is smooth and golden, almost sunkissed. Did someone layer me in fake tan?_

_I can't think about that right now. There's blood on the floor, and if it's not mine- whose is its? Is Veronica Lodge some kind of sick serial killer? Is that her victim?_

_Am I next?_

_Don't look. I tell myself. Force myself. But that's what makes me so fucking human. When we see something we don't want to see, when it's terrible- like a car crash or a murder. We can't resist looking. Maybe it's some sickening pleasure knowing we're not the victim. Swallowing hard, I follow the trail of glistening red across the tiles._

_"Sorry I'm late."_

_I startle at the sound of the door opening and crane my neck. Veronica steps through the door. Her normally bright eyes are dull, her lips pressed in a thin line._

_She's still wearing her blue dress, her ponytail sagging down her back. Her pale legs and knees are splattered crimson like the bathroom tiles. She's barefoot and holding....I squint at the object hanging from her right hand._

_Veronica is holding a bucket. Even with blood covering her arms and tainting the rim of the bucket the girl is still beautiful. Some part of me, a sick bastard, wants to take a picture of her. Suspend her in time, in that exact position._

_I let out a breath. "Veronica?" the memory of her drugging me is fresh on my mind. I can't stop my voice from quivering as she takes slow steps towards me. "What's going on?"_

_The girl kneels next to me. "Jughead." she says softly, with a small smile. I glare back at her. "Why do you keep calling me that?" When she doesn't reply I yank on the handcuffs again. "What is this?" I whisper. "The...the floor..." suddenly my mouth is on auto-pilot, words slipping from my lips like word vomit. "Whose blood is that?"_

_The girl sighs. "It's Jughead's," she says, and her voice breaks. "He...he couldn't deal with it so they killed him." Veronica spoke softly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Before I can think about saying anything, she's speaking again, swiping at her eyes. "Then they killed Archie and Betty for trying to escape," she ducked her head and began to sob, her body trembling. "I'm the only one left, Jug," she whispers. "I can't do this on my own."_

_"What..." I'm gasping for breath, my chest squeezing. Her words send my thoughts spiralling. I try and back away but the handcuff yanks me back. My back slides against the tub when I struggle. "What...what are you talking about?"_

_Veronica stands up, still holding the bucket. "You need to understand that I have to do this or they'll kill us," she said. "They'll kill us and keep taking people, do you understand me? They're everywhere, Jug! the show has to go on!"_

_This girl is fucking crazy. Batshit insane. What's she's talking about, what show?_

_My chest is aching. I just want to go home. Mom will be worried. She hates it when I don't call. I might push her away sometimes, but that's just the angsty teen part of me. My mother's face pops into my mind. Her brown eyes crinkled with worry, her lip curled. Her voice spikes my thoughts. "Sweetie, all you have to do is text me and tell me you're going to be late, or I'll worry myself sick." the thought of mom waiting for me makes my stomach ache. I have to get out of here. Panicking, I tug at the cuffs again._

_"Please," I say softly. "Just...just let me go. We can work something out-"_

_"No!" Veronica snaps. At first I think the girl lunges for me, but instead she twists the dial on the tub and freezing cold water spurts from the tap. I feel it wash over me, slamming into my sludgy mind. I'm wide awake suddenly, struggling, squirming, trying to get away from the girl. But the cuffs are relentless. I watch helplessly as she fills the bucket with icy cold water. It splashes from the sides and I can't resist a cry._

_"You're Jughead Jones," she says, straightening up. I stare up at her, blinking wildly at this crazy girl. "I'm...I'm the dead guy?!" I splutter. She doesn't reply and tips the bucket. A scream rips from my throat when the water hits. It's shattered glass cutting my back open, tingling down my spine. "Say it," her voice trembles. "Please say it."_

_"Say what?!" I shriek when a second load of glacial water hits me. Then a third and fourth until I can barely breathe. I'm sobbing, screaming into my bare knees. The name is in the back of my throat. I know it. It knows me, but the memory is lost. Jughead, Jughead, Jughead. I chant the name in my head. That's my name. Jughead. My name is-_

_"Jughead." I splutter on the sixth bucket of water. By then my body is numb. I'm on my knees, my face pressed in my bare flesh. I'm shivering. "My n- name is Jughead."_

_"You need to give me a second name." Veronica whispers. When I look up through dripping lashes, she's staring down at me. I swallow hard. Hot tears slip down my cheeks, and it's a startling relief against the chilling water. I have to remember who I was. My name. I was...I was....fuck! I can't remember...oh god, I can't remember._

_There's only one name in my head now. It's stuck there like glue. Sucking in a breath I grit my teeth. "Jughead Jones." the name slips out, and it almost feels right._

_Veronica lets out a breath of relief and collapses onto her knees, sobbing. "You need to help me," she whimpers after a moment. I don't reply. I'm staring at the bloody tiles, thinking about the boy with my name. How he died._

_"Are you listening to me?" Veronica is on her feet again, her piercing blue eyes manic. "Jughead, you need to help me find Archie and Betty." she says. "Okay?"_

_I don't remember agreeing._

_I don't remember getting out of the tub, or Veronica handing me a silver crown. I don't remember the metal spikes cutting into my head, warm blood dripping down my temples._

_I don't remember anything._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH. Leave kudos and tell me if you're reading if you want more :D Make sure you let me know. Comments motivate me to write more (Though tbh this might be the first fic that I'm going to update on the reg, it's my absolute favourite fic to write right now omg. Thanks for reading! :D <3


	4. Chapter 4

Sup! Been a while! Okay, so writing about 20 fics at once is surprisingly really hard lmao - but ive been writing this one today- so hopefully you guys are still interested in this! I’m gonna put a lil preview, and see who’s reading, and it’s totally cool if it’s been abandoned, since it’s been like —- god, was it December/Jan when i wrote it?😂 anyway, yes! Here’s a little preview 🥰

* * *

In the beginning her name was Rocky. Just Rocky. Miss Daniel’s didn’t use the kid’s actual names, the ones that were on their file. In her eyes, they didn’t deserve an identity. Kids without parents were the scum of the earth, likely to grow up as criminals. the dregs of society. So Rocky was "Rocky" for the first ten years of her life. And since Rocky had lacked a name when she was dumped on the doorstep of St. Louis’s orphanage at four days old in a wicker basket, not even a blanket covering her, she hadn’t exactly had much choice in the matter. As as orphan of the state, she might as well have been a dog.

The ancient mullioned skylight cast a checker-board of neon light onto the dark wood floor and Rocky found herself smiling, her gaze flicking over each tile. The best thing about being in trouble was sitting on the comfy couch outside the house mother’s office, tipping her head back, and watching the late afternoon sunlight filter in through the cracks in the stained glass window. It was better at night, when she could stare up at the stars blinking down at her, wishing on each and every one of them, for a better life, for her parents to appear out of nowhere. Rocky imagined them in vivid detail; a beautiful woman with obsidian hair trailing down her back, golden skin and a smile pricking on puckered ruby lips. Next to her would be a man with crinkled brown eyes and a kind smile. "Hey kiddo," he'd murmur, before scooping her into his arms. Her mother and father would explain that they were kidnapped by Russian spies and held against their will for nine years, and it was only when they begged the evil men to let them go back to their daughter, would they let them go. Rocky would happily accept their apology without a second thought,  and the three of them would walk into the sunset, and never look back.

But unfortunately for Rocky, her parents were still a no-show. So that left her at St. Louis's. New York's official dumping ground for kids whose parents didn't want them. St Louis’s seemed to have collapsed inwardly on itself somewhat, like a loaf of bread taken out of the oven too soon. It was an ancient building, blending into the monotone, grey blur of New York, hiding between an old convenience store and a dry cleaners. The roof sagged and the cedar shingles stuck up in places like wonky teeth. Inside, it wasn’t much different. The only section of the house which was remotely modern was the bottom floor - where potential foster parents and guests came to inquire; pretty wooden floors and reclining leather couches, a coffee table filled with comic books and magazines. Rocky liked being in this part of the house. She felt almost like a real adult, waiting to talk to someone important, and definitely not like an almost ten year old girl, covered head to toe in glitter and face paint which streaked her olive arms, clumping in her pigtails, waiting to face the wrath of Miss Daniel's, with her fellow partners in crime. 

Once Rocky had come to the realisation her parents weren't coming back, that she had no family, and probably never would, that was when she accidentally became part of a new family. One that wouldn't abandon her ever again. Rocky had no brother's and sisters, obviously. So that left her forming an unlikely friendship with three misfits. At first, it really was an accident. She'd kept to herself mostly, staying in her bedroom or wandering around, glued to Nintendogs on her DS. It was a year prior when their gang had started to come together.

Rocky had been sitting in the kitchen alone, yelling commands at her incredibly stubborn animated puppy, when one of the boys wandered in, grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and sat down opposite her. It wasn't like they were strangers. Rocky knew the kid- sort of. Mostly from his sporadic drumming on any surface he could find, with anything he could use as sticks. The boy was small and stocky with overgrown brownish curls hanging in mischievous brown eyes. The coolest thing about him was his Spider-man shirt, an item of clothing he never took off. Rocky was convinced it was glued to him. Under the light, strands of his hair had a reddish tint. Rocky couldn't help notice it, and found herself smiling. Though the second he pulled out two pencils and began to tap his own melody into the mahogany of the table, did Rocky look up, swallowing a frustrated yell, catching his grin.

" _That's annoying,_ " she murmured, her gaze flitting from the boy, to Poppy, her Nintendog, who for reasons unknown to her, just would not accept its new name.  The boy stopped for a moment, dropping the pencils. " _It's a free country."_ he said, matter of factly, When she only sent him a death glare, he giggled. 

" _What?"_

" _You can't own the kitchen._ " she slitted her eyes at him, but his expression only brightened.

" _Yes I can! Miss Daniel's said I can play in here."_

" _But you're too loud!"_  

" _Fine_." the boy huffed. " _Can I play quietly?"_

" _Yes._ " Rocky muttered, her thumbs mashing the B and A buttons. Not like that would help. The little CGI puppy cocked its head at her, before chasing its tail. When she shouted its name again, it didn't respond, only turned and began to run through animated grass, as if taunting her. Rocky tightened her grip around the DS, especially when the boy began to drum again, getting progressively louder. She smiled through gritted teeth. 

" _Can you do that somewhere else?"_

The boy cocked his head, a little like the Nintendog, and the corners of his lips curled into a smile. 

“ _Make me._ ” 

And that was Zep. The first kid she’s made friends with, and the one who would bring them all together. 

Rocky thought she looked like a real princess. Wearing her pink dress as well as the plastic tiara wobbling on her head, she could imagine that she really was. The glitter and face paint smattering her cheeks really did make her feel like royalty. 

But at least she didn't look half as bad as Zep did. Every time she looked at him, she couldn't help but giggle, though she tried not to. Miss Daniels wasn't happy with them and though she was almost done, Rocky knew when to stay silent. Only a partial bit of his dark curls were visible, the rest was covered in green paint.

Juliet insisted that he wear glasses, too, but the reasoning behind that was still lost on her. Stifling a bubble of laughter, Rocky glanced over at him. He didn't look happy, even though he had a help in his new appearance. She didn't think any of them had a clue what would happen when the green paint washed over his hair, but it trailing down his face and onto his clothes hadn't been one of them. Even now, Juliet was trying to 'fix' it. Gnawing on her bottom lip, the girl with pink paint printed all over her forehead, and streaked in her blonde curls, was sitting on her knees in one of the comfortable leather chairs, the ends of her sweater rolled up,  leaning over the arms, trying to reach Zep to wipe away the green paint that would not defy gravity, even though Juliet was insistent that it would.

Never mind the pink and navy paint that dotted her own skin. Rocky didn't really know the inspiration to Juliet's appearance. Maybe it was a princess, or a butterfly. The pink dolka dots came first, dotting her face and neck, but after a negative comment from Donnie about how childish she looked, Juliet had dunked her hands in the navy paint and had ran it all throughout her blonde hair. Only after Donnie nodded in assent - like he knew anything about fashion - did the frown on Juliet's face disappear, and now she couldn't seem to stop grinning, despite the look. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked, feel free to leave kudos and tell me what you think :D


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